My Midnight Swing
by Somebody's Dark Angel
Summary: A childhood memory leads to a big decision.


My Midnight Swing 

From the perch of my apartment's high balcony I had noticed them – these young aspiring pilots, high-jumpers and daredevils.  I'd envied their grace and enthusiasm as they soared high over the heads of their companions.  I often wished I, too, could hurtle through the air with such dizzying delight.

Summer progressed, the evenings balmy and electric with the promise of fun.  And the temptation was great.  Yet every time I felt the urge to race to the playground, I reasoned the impulse away. _What on earth are you thinking?_ I reprimanded myself.  _A grown man down there on the swings?  What would everyone think? _

No, the idea was ridiculous.  I had bills to pay, chores to attend to.  Leisure time should be spent in adult pursuits – a hike in the country or a trip to the shops.

I stopped watching them.  I put a low chair on the balcony, so all I could see were the roofs of other apartment blocks and the fitful late-summer sky.

But I could still hear those giggling voice floating up from below.  And then lateon Saturday night after a gruelling week, as I sat feeling positively ancient, there came to me again, like a faint echo, the sound of children playing.

I flicked off the lights in the living room and opened the sliding doors to the balcony.  But for the yellow pools cast by the car park lights, all was dark and peaceful.

Stepping out into the moist night air, I looked down to the playground.  There was no-one there.  _Well of course not,_ I chided myself.  _It's nearly midnight.  You're hearing things.  What you need is a good night's sleep._

Yet something told me differently, and this time I didn't reason it away.  With sudden determination, I went inside, pulled on a sweater and walked out of the door.

The dew-moistened grass tickled my sandalled feet on the way to the playground.  Here and there above me a window glowed with the flickering light of a television.  I was completely alone.

The monkey bars loomed against the starry sky.  A tall slide described a shiny, graceful S to the ground.  The seesaw sat at angles.

And there, dangling silently on their chains, hung three swings.  For a long moment I looked at them, feeling suddenly timid and as though dozens of neighbours were watching from their windows.  But it was too late to turn back, and the swings beckoned as they had when I was boy.

I walked over the middle swing as I always had, and sat in its wide rubber sling.  Grabbing the chains, I gave them a sharp pull.  _Yes, they'll hold me._

With a mighty heave I kicked up and backwards with my feet.  In an instant I was rocketing forward, my toes pointed to the stars.

It was exhilarating.  Even wistful imagination hadn't prepared me for the sheer, tummy-turning thrill of dangling for  long second at the end of the sweeping arc and the sudden plummet backwards.  I had forgotten how streamlined I felt, how the cool rush of air made my eyes water.

Then I remembered the playground of my youth.  In the long summer evenings, when we were six or seven, she and I would race down the hill to the swings.  We would dare each other to jump off at the highest point.  In those distant days, there seemed nothing on earth that dreaming couldn't make so.

Later when we went there it was a gathering place for young teenagers, where my mates and I would meet and chat, sitting idly on the swings.  At the appearance of her and her friends, all conversation hushed and any actual swinging stopped. She would walk over to us, and our friends would scatter, leaving us alone.  We would sit and chat for hours, sometimes swinging, sometimes pushing each other on the swings, sometimes making out.

Now, as I pumped the air with my feet and pulled on the chains to propel myself higher, it was hard to believe.  I ha let this much simple fun slip away.  As a boy, I had dreamed of travelling the world, and I had done that.  I had dreamed of following my father's footsteps and had done that after I finished travelling the world.  I had dreamed of marrying her, but of course that hadn't happened…yet.  There was always a chance that if…when I went back, we would become lovers once more…that is, if she hadn't already found someone else to love.

Mostly, of course, I had dreamed of being a grownup and of doing what I wanted, when I wanted.  But as I grew older, I became free like every other adult – free to make decisions, free to clutter my life with all sort of possessions.  But how free had I really become.

Not very, it seemed.  For wasn't freedom the self-confidence to stop on impulse and do a somersault on the lawn?  To try something new and not worry about making a fool of yourself?

Lulled by the rhythmic creaking of the chains on the night-time swing, I found myself growing unaccountably happy.  So my tax was due.  So the car registration had nearly expired.  So that badly needed cheque hadn't yet turned up in the letterbox.  So what?  My toes were touching stars and my heart was chuckling.

At that moment I made a decision.  I would go back.  Soon.  I had to see her again, and I had a feeling that she hadn't yet found someone else to love.  I would ask for a transfer in the morning.

The next morning when I left my apartment, I ran into one of my neighbours in the carpark.  "Was that you I saw on the swing lat night?"  he asked, smirking.

"Indeed it was."  I said.  "And maybe again tonight."

As I got in my car, I continued the conversation in my head.  _And then maybe in the near future, we can swing together again Prue._

THE END

What did you think?  Please R&R.  In case you didn't get it, the fic was from Andy's point of view, while he was still in New York, just before he decided to come back to San Francisco.


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